There is always a Me, and a Them,
But there never really is an Us,
They'll let you in, yes,
They'll be nice to you,
Share their food even;
But there's always that little space
They keep in between,
The r not rolled correctly,
The colour of your skin,
Or the way you smile at the women;
They're happy to help you try,
But if you do roll the r the right way,
There's something about eating cheese
That you won't get right.
The best jokes are not for you,
They'll cuss just out of earshot
So you can hear the hiss,
And they might talk to you about return journeys
More often than you think polite.
Stay apart, Wanderer,
You never did belong,
You never will.